


Holly Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

by CreaturesSuchAsMe (rebellion1810)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:45:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebellion1810/pseuds/CreaturesSuchAsMe
Summary: Everyone knows the story of Harry Potter. But not many know of his twin sister, Holly. Separated on the night of their parent's deaths, Harry and Holly had quite different upbringings. Harry Potter had no idea how famous he and Holly were. Holly Potter did. Harry was raised by his magic fearing-aunt and uncle. Holly was raised by a family of wizards who took her in and taught her how to control her powers. And Harry was never told that he, his sister, or their parents, were wizards. Holly was told from the start that she was magic, and barley a detail about her parents was left out when told to her.But everything seems to change when Harry and Holly are reunited when they're both summoned to start their schooling at the famous Hogwarts. While Harry discovers things about his and Holly's illustrious birthrights, that Holly, seemed common knowledge, Holly will uncover what's it's like to live in the opposite world Harry comes from. Harry and Holly both soon find themselves drawn deep inside, not only a mystical world Harry never knew existed, but closer to a noble destiny neither twin could have ever imagined.





	1. The Girl Who Also Lived

**Chapter One**

**The Girl Who Also Lived**

  
  
  
  


**A** low rumble was all that I could hear, all that I could _feel._ It permeated all my senses, muffling all the other stimuli around me. My eyes were shut tight, but I didn’t want to open them. I felt my body roll ever-so-slightly to the left, seeking out something that I _knew_ would be over there.

_*Bump.*_ Ah, there he was.

     Harry was deeper asleep than I, but he was cold. Not cold enough to wake up, but cold enough to know that he was, indeed, cold. I was never cold. I was always warm enough. Was that why I had partially woken up? Because, subconsciously, he needed my warmth? Hmm, alright.

     But _why_ was he cold? Our bedroom was always set to a nice temperature, and since we slept in the same crib, he was hardly ever cold at night. Maybe a bit too warm because of me, but never cold. Not like this.

_The wind._ That’s why he was cold. The wind was howling over us at a vicious rate. I had never heard it blow so fast. Why?

     …. Or, was it that the wind was coming at us quickly, or rather that we were moving _through_ it quickly? That _would_ explain the rumbling.

     Having enough answers, I was drifting back off to sleep when puffs of steam started kissing my face. I mentally reached back out to Harry, to see if he was feeling the same thing. Nope. The lightest of mist was accumulating on his face, yet he was as asleep as ever. So the mist was evaporating as it hit me. Huh, curious.

     First the wind and now the mist. It was out of the ordinary. We were obviously not in our bedroom. It was all a bit exciting. Though my body was exhausted, my mind couldn't possibly go back to sleep now!

     The wind had slowed down, though only a by a little, and the mist continued to surround us, when my ears popped. Well that was _definitely_ not normal.

     Soon after that, the mist subsided, and the wind continuously abated. As what had been a whipping and biting wind finally diminished down to a nice breeze, the world suddenly shook and jostled. It must have only lasted half a second, but it still seemed to come out of nowhere! _How_ was Harry still asleep?!   

     The rumbling was louder now. It resembled more of a large growl than a background grumble.

     With a slight jerk forward, the roar became a pur. We had apparently come to a stop. As my ears adjusted to the loss of noise, I could just barely pickup the sounds of a conversation.

     “-at last.” The first disembodied voice was quiet and silvery, laced with peace and wisdom. “And where did you get that motorcycle?”

     That must have been what we were riding in.

     “Borrowed it, sir.” a second voice answered. This voice was much closer, next to us, most likely. It was gruff and gravelly, and it was _trying_ its best to whisper.

     As the gruff voice spoke, I felt the bike move and bounce under us. Then, two garbage can lid sized hands scooped us up, one of us in each hand, and brought us up to the chest they were most likely attached to, snuggling us in an itchy and wiry substance that almost made me sneeze.

     “-lent it to me.” Gravel-voice, as I now dubbed them, continued. “I’ve got them, sir.”

     “No problems, were there?” Silver-voice asked.

     “No, sir -” Being right up against the Gravel-voice’s chest, the voice resonated deeply next to my ear, making it hard for me to catch all the words it was saying. “- house was almost destroyed, but I got them out all right before-” _rrruuummmbblle_ “-started swarmin’ around. They both fell asleep as we was flyin’ over Bristol. As we were descendin’, though, the girl here did start ta’ get a bit fussy.”

_The girl?!_ They were talking about me! _‘Fussy’_ they called me! Only thing was, I didn’t know if that was meant to be an outright insult, or just a description that I was reading too much into.

     Before I could decide, I sensed two other figures bend over us, barely visible through the bundle of blankets Harry and I were swaddled in.

     “Is that where --?” whispered a new voice, regal and high pitched.

    “Yes,” said Silver-voice. “They’ll have those scars forever.”

     “Couldn’t you do somethin’ abou’-” _rruummble_ “-ore?

     Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself, above my left knee, that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well -- give the boy here-” _rumble_ “-we’d better get this over with.”

_'The boy?’ ‘Over with?’_ What the bloody hell were they doing to Harry?! I don’t know how I could tell, but I could feel Harry being transferred from one of Gravel-voice’s arms to someone else’s. He was being pulled away from me! How was he _still_ asleep?! Couldn’t he feel the tug at his heart, telling him he was being forcibly separated from me?! I _had_ to wake him up! I _demanded_ to know what was going on! But, for some reason, my demand only came out as a small, muffled “Mewl?”

     My cat-sounding demand was lost in the overlap of the larger voices.

     “Could I -- could I say good-bye to him, sir? asked Gravel-voice.

_‘Yeah! Me too!’_ I thought to myself, as Gravel-voice bent his head over Harry’s and, by the sound of it, gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss.

     For the half second that Gravel-voice was bent over, I had been positioned parallel to Harry. I tried to send him one last message, hoping it would still reverberate in his mind when he woke.

  _“Harry? I think we have to leave each other. I don’t know for how long, and I don’t know why. But don’t forget about me, okay? I don’t know how far away we’ll be from each other, but I can only hope that we both carry a trace of the other witch us, so that we’ll never be truly separated. Remember me, and remember that I love you.”_

     I know I couldn’t possibly get all those words through in the blink-of-an-eye time that I had, but I tried to flood the feelings of those words into Harry’s head, still hoping that, somehow, after all he slept through, that he might wake up, so that we could see each other, for what might be the last time.

     My fear fueled effort was cut short as Gravel-voice bayed at the sky with sorrow, nearly deafening me.

     “Shh!” Regal-voice hissed, “you’ll wake up the-” _rrrrrooooommmmm_ , rang Gravel-voice’s chest, cutting off Regal’s voice to me. Though it wasn’t hard to guess that she didn’t want Gravel to wake up whoever lived around here, wherever _here_ was.

     “S-s-sorry,” Gravel sobbed. His next words came out even more muffled, as if he had suddenly tied a scarf over his mouth. “But I c-c-can’t stand it -- _hic a-snooorff_ dead -- and poor little Harry off ter live with _hic_ \-- bein’ separated from ‘is twin an’ everythin’ --”

     “Yes, yes, it’s all very sad, but get a grip on yourself-” _hic_ “-or we’ll be found,” whispered Regal, a patting sound coming near my head as she said this.

     I strained my to listen harder, to see if I could hear Harry waking up as his presence faded away from my side.

     He was still fast asleep. But, I did hear retreating footsteps coming from the direction Harry was being taken. A small _“bumf”_ as something was set down, a swish of fabric, a rustling of fabric and paper, more rustling of paper and possibly a different fabric, and, finally, footsteps coming back toward us. But Harry stayed where he was.

      For at least a whole minute, though I really couldn’t tell, the giants stood silently. Gravel’s shoulders shook, sending mini-vibrations through me as well, someone else was blinking a lot, and the last let out an almost imperceptible sigh. The other two might not have even caught it.

     “Well,” Silver finally said, “that’s that.”

_‘That’s that?!’_ You just take away my twin brother, the other half of my _soul,_ just leave him in what might as well be the middle of nowhere, and all you can say is _‘That’s that?!’_

     “We’ve no business staying here.” Silver continued. “We’ll drop the girl off at the designated location, and then, we may as well join in the celebrations.”

     WHAT?! They’re going to drop me and then go party??!! What kind of kidnapping giants were these???

     “Yeah,” Gravel voice said in a voice so muffled, I could barely understand him, and I was right up against him! “I’d best get this bike away right after. I’ll see you two at the meetin’ spot, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir.”

     Moving his other arm against his face, Gravel set me back down on the bike, swung himself on, which made the whole world shake again, and kicked the bike back to life; with a monstrous roar and a powerful jolt forward, we moved _up_ through the wind and clouds again.

     The pain in my heart was _almost_ like no pain I’ve known at the time. The heart-string binding Harry and I pulled tighter and tighter, but refused to break. After all that had happened since I woke up, I finally cried. But the sound of the wind and the bike combined easily drowned me out to Gravel’s ears. My swaddling started to smolder around me, but the wind fought me, and won, on that front too.

     I cried and cried as my bond to Harry stretched itself thinner, till it was so lean that, if it could actually be seen, you would hardly be able to.

     As I outwardly screamed at the air around me, inward, I tried to reach back out to Harry, feeling as if I was groping around in a big, dark, empty room, trying to catch a single fly.

     I don’t recall much after that. I remember a few things, but very few at that.

     I know that my crying quickly wore me out. And, I recollect an eerily clear picture of Harry coming to mind as I drifted off from exhaustion. I remember it so clearly, because of how it was different.

     Whenever I had reached out to Harry before, I had always been _in_ his mind, sometimes even seeing through his eyes. And vise versa for him as well. But the picture I got of Harry that night, it was an actual _picture_. As if I had been standing there myself with a camera. If I concentrate hard enough, I can still bring to mind almost every detail, and replay them, over and over, if I want too.

_A breeze ruffled the tidy hedges of the residential drive, which was equally as neat. And as quiet as a graveyard, under a sky that looked as if someone had tried to scratch out all the stars with ink. All in all, it looked like a very boring place to be, let alone live. Harry was still wrapped up in his blankets, and had been left on a doorstep as if delivered by stork. He rolled over in his sleep, one of his tiny little infant hands reflexively grasping on a letter snuggled next to him. And he slept on, not knowing of our separation, not knowing we were special, not knowing that we were famous._

     I can also briefly recall, in blurry flashes, what happened to Harry after that. He’d be woken up by a scream when the door he had been dumped by opened in the morning. He’d spend the next few weeks being poked and proded by our cousin, which, in turn, would leave faint, matching bruises on me that, to unsuspecting eyes, seemed to come from nowhere. What I don’t recall is if my last mental message to Harry stayed with him.

     And, during all that time, those first few weeks of our separation, people all over the British Isles would meet in secret, holding up various drinking glasses, and saying in hushed voices: “To Harry and Holly Potter -- the children that lived!”


	2. The Sinclairs

**The Sinclairs**

      **T** he next morning, a day after Harry awoke the first time without me beside him, was Monday, the 3rd of November, 1980. Roughly 280 miles north a little to the west of Privet Drive, stood Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. The castle was unusually quiet for this time of morning. The reason for this was that the usual daily routine of the school had been pushed back an hour because of the unforeseen three day weekend of celebration that had taken place.

     The Friday before had been the 31st of October, Hallowe’en, which was always a no-school holiday at Hogwarts. The weekend following would have proceeded as normal, except that astonishing news had come in Saturday morning at breakfast.

**“Voldemort is dead!”**

     The castle had erupted in sound. The administration had declared holiday-like celebrations to continue throughout the weekend, with everyone’s curfew lasting an hour longer, thus delaying the start of Monday’s schedule an hour to accommodate this. A few of the staff, along with the Headmaster, had even seemed to take a vacation for the weekend (a very unusual thing, mind you), having not been seen since the news was announced.

     It was now 6:30 a.m., two hours before breakfast, when a rapid knocking was heard on the first year girl’s dorm room.

     The sound was so unexpected that two of the four girls occupying the room nearly fell out of their beds, along with a cat that had been at the foot one, while another girl banged her head on her headboard.

     Of the two girls who had leapt out of bed at the sound, Rowan Khanna was the closest. She grabbed her glasses off her nightstand and was still in the process of putting them on as she opened the door.

     In the doorway stood Angelica Cole, the female Gryffindor Prefect. She was still in her black and hot pink nightgown, with bedhead to match, but for some reason, she had thought of throwing on a school robe so as to pin her Prefect badge to. Whatever her reason for being here, it must have been _‘important Prefect business’._

     “Morning, Khanna.” Angelica said, trying to sound professional, yet not quite succeeding at hiding the irritation in her voice.

     Focusing her large, blurry, brown eyes over Rowan’s shoulder, Angelica’s gaze met Olive Sinclair’s, the other girl who was mostly out of bed.

     “Sinclair,” she commanded. “McGonagall wants to see you. She’s waiting down in the Common Room.” Angelica made a “come along” gesture with her head, and moved towards the stairs without waiting for her escortee.

     Not missing a beat, despite the early hour, the redheaded first year, wearing only a blue jumper and green basketball shorts, grabbed her green and blue tartan bathrobe, and scurried after her Prefect.

     “Did McGonagall say why she wanted to see me?” Olive asked as the two descended the short staircase from the girl’s dormitory. Angelica’s silence answered for her.

     As they came to the foot of the spiral staircase, there stood Professor McGonagall, alone in the common room, already fully dressed for the day.

     Yet something was off. _Subtly_ off. Even though McGonagall stood there as if it were any other time of day, she seemed tired. Not the kind of tired that Angelica currently felt, the tiredness that comes with being woken up earlier than you should have. Irritability came with that, and McGonagall wasn’t irritated. At least, not any more than she usually seemed. It was more like she was pushing against sleep, and had been for a while.

      _Did McGonagall sleep at all this weekend?_ Olive thought.

     “Here she is, Professor.” Angelica said to McGonagall, referring to Olive. The prefect’s face and body language said that if she hadn’t been speaking to a superior, she would have ended that sentence with a _“can I go back to sleep now?”_

     “Thank you, Miss Cole. Miss Sinclair, if you would come with me?” The Professor’s hand swept out and gracefully landed on Olive’s shoulder, gently guiding her towards the entrance.

     As the two left through the portrait door and into the hallway, the cold stone floor scraped against Olive’s feet, reminding her that she hadn’t put any socks or slippers on. Not that she minded. It was a fun, loosely-held tradition on both sides of her family that children should run around barefoot till about the age of about 10 so the child’s feet could be thick and calloused early in life, half-jokingly believing that it gave the child more freedom to roam the wilds of the Scottish lowlands as they pleased. So while the chilliness of the floor did succeed in waking Olive up further, the familiar feeling of going barefoot also lightened her mood, whereas it might have been the opposite for her schoolmates.

     Olive’s livetity was not long lived, though, as the duo travelled through the North Wing. The reading room and study hall were completely abandoned, not even a ghost in sight, and no signs of life came from behind the closed doors of the offices and classrooms that they passed. The only sound that echoed throughout the castle was the scuttering of house-elves getting the school ready for the day. Every now and then, Olive could catch a glimpse of one, and that was only because the house-elves probably didn’t expect anyone up this early either.

     Through the windows, Olive could see that the Quidditch field was also unnaturally quiet and abandoned, as no one would be getting up for early morning practice for at least another two and a half hours. The eerie silences did nothing to calm Olive’s already on-edge nerves.

   Ever since the news of Voldemort’s death had been announced Saturday morning, a seed of worry had been in the back of Olive’s mind. The raucous festivities had done a good job at distracting her, but it had still been there throughout the weekend. Voldemort was reportedly dead, yes, but what about his underlings? News came in here and there that they were being rounded up, but the Ministry couldn’t possibly grab them all at once. One report that had followed Voldemort’s death in the newspaper reported that two members of the Order had been tortured into madness at the same time of the Dark Lord’s downfall.

     Being only eleven years old and far from home, of course Olive worried what might become of her parents as the Death Eaters panicked.

     Finally, it was too much for the young girl to hold in. “Professor McGonagall?” she started, while still trying to keep pace with the teacher.

     “Hmm?” the professor answered, turning her green-eyed gaze to meet Olive’s and slowing down a bit, but still confidently striding forward.

     “Is something wrong? Is it my parents? Are they alright?” Every question came out quicker than the one before, and by the end, Olive’s voice had risen an octave higher.

     “Everything’s fine, Miss Sinclair.” McGonagall answered in her comforting Scottish tone. “You’re parents are fine. They’re actually waiting for you on the phone. They wish to speak with you, urgently.”

      _The phone?!_ Her parents had _called_ rather than sent an owl? Owl was the standard way of communicating with _anyone_ in the wizarding world! Sure, there were a few other ways you could get ahold of someone in a pinch, but they weren't as commonly used unless absolutely needed. The only reason you would _call_ Hogwarts would be if you had information that both your child, and the faculty, needed to know right that instant, like an illness or death in the family. Even then, some parents _still_ sent an owl! While weight had been taken off Olive’s shoulders to hear that her parents were not only okay, but contacting her, the fact that they had _called_ to speak with her put the anxiety right back on her chest.

     As the pair turned the last corner before the Griffin Stairwell, Olive saw clear outlines of two people standing by the griffin statue. As she and McGonagall approached, Olive’s keen eyes quickly made out the familiar features of the others.

     They were two, tall (at least, to Olive), fifth year Slytherin boys that she knew well. The first was leaning up against the wall next to the statue’s alcove, and looked ready to fall back asleep standing up. His short, brown hair wasn’t slicked back like it usually was, but still maintained it’s severe part in the middle of the boy’s forehead. His brow extended far over his eyes, making his brown eyes look even more sunk into his skull than they already were. His skin was white enough to belong to a corpse. The high cheekbones, long nose, and pinched gauntness of his whole face added up to make Felix Rosier, the male Slytherin Prefect.

     The second boy was a bit taller, and looked more awake as well. He had a square yet handsome face, and not a square inch that was untouched by freckles. His dark brown hair was stuck up in a mohawk that was somehow defying gravity. His long, black lashes made it look like he was perpetually wearing eyeliner, while the shadow of scruff under his nose and on his jaw line made him look older than a fifth year. He was also sporting a bathrobe of the same tartan Olive’s was made out of. This could only be Olive’s older brother, Jacob.

     “Ah, Mr. Rosier,” McGonagall announced as they approached. “Thank you for fetching Mr. Sinclair for me, despite the early hour. You may leave now.”

     Rosier gave a sneering smile, but didn’t say anything as he slithered back down the corridor. A few seconds passed when McGonagall declared to the direction Rosier had left, “You can go back to your common room, Mr. Rosier. I have no more need for you at this time.” Quick, slapping footsteps echoed back to the trio after this remark.

     McGonagall gave a small smile at this, but her eyes held suspicion as she turned back to the Sinclair siblings.

     “I’m sorry to wake you both at such an early hour, but your parents are waiting for you on the phone in the Headmaster’s office. Now, if you’ll step aside, please.”

     The professor made a shooing motion with her hands, and the students stepped out of the way so McGonagall could face the alcove the griffin statue sat in. She raised her wand slightly, and in a crisp, yet somewhat hushed tone, like that of a stage whisper, spoke “Chocolate Frog.”

     At these words, the golden griffin came to life, looked at McGonagall, acknowledged her with a bow of it’s head, sat back in its position, and flapped its wings once. The pedestal the griffin was sitting on then began to rise, revealing a spiral staircase that ascended with the griffin.

     McGonagall stepped aside and gestured for the siblings to hop on the staircase.

     After a moment’s hesitation, the pair, now holding hands, stepped gingerly onto the escalator like steps.

     “Jacob?” Olive tried to whisper, though it was hard over the stone-on-stone sound the staircase made. “What’s going on?” Olive was pretty sure Jocob had as little knowledge about the situation as she did, but he was her big brother, so she naturally looked to him for guidance in confusing situations such as these.

     “I don’t know, Pip.” he answered, using his secret nickname for her. As if he shared the same worries she did, despite his older age, he continued, “But I do know that Mam and Dad are okay.” squeezing her hand at the end of the statement.

     Though he was stating the obvious, it did still seem to calm Olive to hear it aloud.

     It did not take long for the moving staircase to reach the door to the Headmaster’s office, though it had seemed long enough for Olive and Jacob to say the words they had needed to. Maybe it was charmed in someway to allow that?

     Olive had been in the Headmaster’s office once before, near the start of the school year, but the large circular room, with its many windows letting in the autumnal dawn light, and even more portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses, still succeeded in taking a bit of her breath away.     

     The room was lined with delicate looking silver instruments that Olive couldn’t identify, shelves upon shelves of books that belonged to the Headmaster, a bird perch upon which slept Dumbledore’s pet Phoenix, Fawkes, and a large portrait of the Headmaster before Dumbledore, Armamdo Dippit, sitting above the current Headmaster’s desk.

     “Ah, there you two are.” a quiet and melodious voice spoke from behind the desk. Olive had been so taken in by her surroundings that, in the cool shadows of the morning light coming from the windows, she had failed to notice the tall, thin, wrinkly shape of Professor Dumbledore seated at his desk.

     His long silver hair and beard glistened in the morning light, going along well with his matching silver robes. A long purple cloak was hung up behind him, and looked as if it had been worn for two days straight. The Headmaster’s blue eyes were bright, light, and sparkling behind his half-moon spectacles, but it all felt a bit _forced_ this morning, as if he had stayed up even longer than McGonagall might’ve.

     “I do want to apologize to you both once again for waking you up so early,” Dumbledore resumed, getting up from behind the desk and walking towards to students. “especially when your classmates are still sleeping in, but the promptness both of you have shown is appreciated, and I will see that you are compensated for it, with five house points each.”

     The siblings’ eyes widened at this, but before they could stumble out ‘thank-yous,’ the Headmaster continued quickly, “Now, I do hate chat and dash, but I also do try to respect my student’s privacy, so I shall be down in the hallway with Professor McGonagall. The phone is right over there,” Dumbledore motioned to a side table that neither sibling had ever seen before, on which sat an elegant, oil-black, Northwestern Electric rotary phone, with a pristinely white doily cushioned under it. “It is magic of course, so just pick up the handset, and your parents should be on the other end. Come down when you’re all sorted.” he was already out of the room at the end of his tumble of words, and the door closing behind him only help to emphasize the hurriedness of the whole affair.

     After a stunned second of silence. Jacob squeezed Olive’s hand, marched over to the phone, placed his hand on top of the handset, and waited for his sister to follow. Taking a moment to steele herself, Olive took a deep, yet shaky breath, and slowly approached the phone herself.

     She put her hand next to Jacob’s and locked eyes with him. They nodded at each other in an unspoken agreement, and flipped the handset over together.

     Half a moment ticked by before Olive stumbled out a “H-hello?”

     “Olive? Is that you, sweetie?” the lilted, Lowland voice of Laurel Sinclair came out of the receiver like a walkie-talkie, so that both children could hear without having to put the handset next to one of their faces. “Oh, it’s so good to hear you, Owlet! Is your brother there too?”

     “I’m here, Mam.” Jacob replied. “What’s goin’ on? Is everythin’ alright?”

     “Everything’s fine, dears. No need to work yourselves into tizzies. I know your father and I must have worried you by callin’ you so early in the morning, but what we have to tell you probably shouldn’t wait-“

     “Is dad there, too?” Jacob interrupted.

     A rustling was heard, followed by the brassy, Highland voice of Robin Sinclair coming over the line, sounding a bit further away from the transmitter than his wife. “Don’t worry, Jacob. I’m here too, thanks for askin’.” A sound like the cry of a baby farm animal punctuated the end of his assurances.

     “Dad? What was that?” Olive inquired. Olive did want to know what was so important that her parents needed to call, but she also wanted to find a seed of normalcy in this worrying situation. “Did one of the horses have a baby?”

     “Well, Owlet,” her father acknowledged. “You’re not far off about the reason we’re callin’.” A shaky, awkward laugh followed before he continued. “Are ye two sittin’ down? It’s not that this is somethin’ that might make ye weak-kneed, it’s just that the explanation may take awhile.”

     “I’ve got it.” Jacob said. He pulled his wand out of his bathrobe pocket and summoned two chairs from Dumbledore’s desk over to the pair.

     After taking a moment to settle in, Jacob held the handset in between himself and Olive’s head and said “Okay. We’re sittin’, Dad. Now will you and Mam please tell us what’s goin' on?!”

     Usually, taking that tone with either Sinclair parent wasn’t the best idea, but Mr. Sinclair seemed to judge that the news he and his wife had to share greatly overshadowed this momentary lapse in Jacob’s manners.

     “Well, to start with, I’m sure ye’ve both heard about Voldemort’s downfall on Hallowe’en,”

     “Im-hm.” both children replied, wanting their father to get on with it.

     “While, I’m sure you’re aware then, of the circumstances that happened that night.”

     “Yeah.” Jacob answered for the both of them. “The two infants he was trying to kill somehow survived The Killing Curse and bounced the curse back at him, right?”

     “Somethin’ along those lines, yes. Harry and Holly Potter _did_ somehow manage to survive The Killing Curse, though the same sadly can’t be said for their parents.”

     “Did you know them well, the Potters?” Olive interjected.

     At this, Laurel Sinclair piped up. “They were members of the Order, but they went into hidin’ when Lily found out she was pregnant, so we haven’t s--- _hadn’t_ seen them since then. Lily and James also started at Hogwarts after your father and I graduated, so we really didn’t know them all that well…” Mrs. Sinclair’s voice drifted off in a saddened laden sigh.

     “Mam?” Olive called worriedly into transmitter.

     “Sorry about that, luv. Got a bit carried away.” Mrs. Sinclair answered back, her chipperness sounding a bit forced.

     “Anyway, did the reports say what happened to the twins afterwards?”

     “Have you not been readin’ the papers, Mam?” Jacob asked.

     “We’ve been a bit busy, son,” Mr. Sinclair called back tersely. “Please, just answer ye mother.”

     “Um, they didn’t say much. Just that the now infamous ‘Boy & Girl Who Lived’ would be going to live with extended family. But none of the papers disclosed where those relatives lived. Probably for the best, huh?”

     “Quite right, Jacob.” Robin answered. “And that’s exactly what they should say.”

     “Is that because it’s not true?” Olive questioned unflinchingly.

     “No, it’s true,” Mr. Sinclair replied. “It’s just that it’s not the whole story.”

     “Ah.” the siblings replied together knowingly.

     “Harry Potter _was_ sent to live with his maternal aunt and her family. All three of them Muggles,” Mrs. Sinclair continued.

     “But his sister wasn’t?” Jacob asked.

     “No. She’s being taken in by a wizarding family under a false name.”

     “So, like, wizard witness protection or something?” “Basical-”

     “Wait, Mam?” Olive interrupted. “None of this was in the papers. How do you know all this? And why are you telling us all of this? Dad said that the information about the extended family was best kept secret, but you’re blabbin’ all o’ this to us!”

     A small, light chuckle was heard over the line.“Very astute, Olive.” Mrs. Sinclair responded beamingly. “This is where we get to the actual news. You see, the wizard family that’s taking in the Potter girl…. is us.”

 

🜄☇🜄 


End file.
